


Curiosity

by Alayne_StoneColdFox



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Asoiaf - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Age Play, Bathing/Washing, Consensual Underage Sex, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Consensual Spanking, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Pseudo-Incest, Rough Sex, Sex Education, Spanking, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4446449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alayne_StoneColdFox/pseuds/Alayne_StoneColdFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is curious about something she's overheard Harry saying about her, as she's not quite sure what he means.</p><p>Surely her father would know. He's a knowledgable sort of man, and there is a lot of things he can teach her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently been reading some 1800's serialised erotica publications, and they're absolutely wild but also terribly flowery, and very, very British. Like I don't think I can truly describe how they are disgusting and raunchy, but also kind of mixed with a Beatrix Potter book? Not that there are woodland creatures involved. Though there were a few dirty limericks about fucking pigs and sucking off horses. Those were in the back.
> 
> Anyway, they were slightly inspiring, since I've been writing so much modern AU stuff lately for Petyr and Sansa, and I like to be very blunt and crass with them, so I thought I'd mix it up and be a bit pseudo-poetic in the style of old english smut. It's just as fun, and Petyr's such a naturally dandy.

She was a girl meant to be adored, with those big blue eyes that blinked so prettily, and a sweet smile, shyly given whenever she was praised or fawned over. And praise and fawn, I did.

Not in excess. Excess was not needed, not with a girl so starved of affection, so downtrodden and accustomed to hate. The vipers nest of Kings Landing had made her wary of anyones bite, and at first, when I said even the sweetest things, she would look a glance at me as if I would snatch the words right back again and spew venom her way instead.

Though I proved myself to her in time. My words were always soft, always kind, always said with a smile on my face, and in turn she warmed to me the way a cat would to a comforting fire, having been left to the cold for so long. The kisses took more time for her to grow used too. I could see the blushing confusion on her face, god, such a pleasant sight, when I would press my lips to hers in a chaste show of affection. This is how fathers kiss their daughters, I would explain, arm settled gently around her waist, and she would mumble in the privacy of my chambers that her old father never used to kiss her so.

The poor little thing wasn't completely daft, she had some sense of what was decent and indecent between a man and a girl, no matter what our facade was. I could see it in her initial tenseness the first time I drew her into my lap, and kissed her a moment too long, when the wine had perhaps reached my head. Surely she knew the facade did not to be kept like this when the chamber door was barred and bolted, and the rest of the castle asleep. Though to my delight, she kept silent, and any apprehension was kept to herself. Now, as months had passed, and the facade had become our life, there seemed scarcely any apprehension at all.

Now she never faulted to kiss me goodnight. She would bid me an easy rest, pecking her lips on mine, without me even having to remind her. I would smile at her like a truly adoring father would, at this sweet daughter of mine, and she would smile back. I would say It became as much a comfort to her as the kind words did. She had not had a decent man in her life for so long, no wonder she clung to me so. Funny, if she should ever hold me closer than she did when sat on my knee, she would feel the bulge beneath my trousers, and know that a decent man I most certainly was not. I could barely help myself sometimes, when she would descend upon me in a flurry of skirts, arms around my neck, eager to tell me of what she'd done with Myranda for the day, what she'd said to Harry when she joined him on a hunt. I was her confidant, her friend, her father, and in this position her little breasts were pushed up right under my nose in that tight bodice of hers, and as she chattered on it was a wonder how I kept myself from simply pressing my face between them, as I ached to do. They were small, but they looked so soft, and oh but if I could not just pull down her hemline an inch with my finger, just to gaze down and see if the tips of them were as pink as the image I conjured in my head. 

Oh, and just be my luck that she was at an age that she would be curious of such things. Just be her luck that I was a man who knew of such things in abundance.

“Father-” she began, almost hesitant “would you mind if I asked you a question? It is about Harry, and something odd that he said the other day.”

“Of course,” My brow furrowed, as if concerned “Why, what has he said to you?”

This is where she shifts a little, getting herself more comfortable on my knee, as we sit on one of the cosier chairs before the fire “Well, it's not so much something he said to me, only something I overheard.”

My face must show my delight “Oh, dear girl, have you been eavesdropping?”

Her smile is badly hidden “No! Never, I was simply waiting for him to finish talking with his friends in the stables. Behind one of the box stalls. Only so that I would not disturb him!”

“My sly sweetling,” I laughed, and she laughed with me, as my arm encircled her fondly “Of course now you have me worried, as Harry has obviously said something meant for the ears of rowdy young boys, and not your delicate ears at all,” I gave said ear a little stroke “so tell me, what is it you overheard?”

“Well, he was with one of the boys he practises at archery with, as well as Ser Wallace's squire, and they were talking about me. I didn't hear all of it, since they were laughing quite a bit, but Harry was saying that he couldn't wait to... oh. No, I don't want to say anymore. I know it must be rude, I shouldn't!”

She went quite pink in such a delicious manner of a blush.

“No, no, go on. Now I must know what he has said, if it has worried you so,” I took her hand to mine, running my thumb over the top of her soft skin. Her hand clasped me back gently.

“He said he couldn't wait to have me sit on his face so he could taste my dripping quim.” she said with all the innocence of her youth, and I let out a very unseemly noise from the back of my throat.

“The cur!” I cried. How dare he to even have such a notion! Especially when I was the only one who would be claiming any such prize! Who did this up-jumped nobody of distant relation did this boy think he was with such talk?! 

Sansa's hands flew to her face as she turned even redder “Oh, I knew it was rude, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything!”

She pulled away slightly, and I knew my tone must've frightened her, but I was quick to reign myself back “No, no, no, I'm sorry sweetling, I'm not angry, not in the least at you,” 

“But what did he mean?” she then cried “I would never sit on his face, I don't know why he would say that, it seems such a strange notion!”

Oh, the poor thing, confused, ashamed and desperate for answers. She soothed herself back into my touch, and I knew I must think of something to say. It's good that that's always been a skill of mine, and this line of questioning is too tantalising not to touch properly upon. What kind of lecherous pervert would I be to pass up such a conversation with my sweet girl?

“Well, I suppose it may seem a strange notion at first, and I tread carefully as I tell you this, as most people would say its not fit for young ladies to hear about...” I let my voice trail off very softly, as if I were sharing something quite secret with her, and Sansa leant in closer and lowered her voice in turn, so that I could feel her warm breath against my cheek.

“You can tell me. You should tell me, even! If Harry is saying it about me, I practically have a right to know!” she pressed.

“Oh, but it is quite scandalous,” I mocked my apprehension, and she pawed at my chest, as if she could urge the answer from me quicker.

“Please, please, you must tell me, and I'll just die if you even think of sending me to bed without knowing! It will keep me up all night!”

“Yes, yes, alright, but you must never breathe a word to anyone that you know of such a thing,” I said, to add another indulgent layer of scandal to her mind, and now I could see she was truly eager to be let in on this secret, and I could feel my cock twitch just thinking of being the one to tell her “Now, I'm not sure where to start, but I know you must be at least aware of what goes on between men and woman in their marriage bed?”

“I know a little,” she nodded, looking down at her skirts, and I hated that she must be thinking of her wedding night, tragic night that it was “You have to be naked, and the man goes on top of you...and once, I saw my fathers ward, his name was Theon, he always used to chase the chamber maids and girls about the castle, and I saw him behind one of them, had her bent over. Like I've seen the dogs in the court yard sometimes.”

“Oh, my girl, you do know of some naughty things,” I muttered, but smiled so that she blushed only bashful, not ashamed “Yes, people can frig in all sorts of positions, there's more than just the two.”

“Really? How many are there then?”

“Oh, I don't think I could count them all from the top of my head,” I was actually sure I could, given the time “But we've already been through two of the main three. The man above the woman, the man behind the woman, and then the third most common, is the woman atop the man.”

“The woman can go on top?” her brow furrowed in such sweet confusion.

“Oh, yes, she can sit upon him. You know that when a man is ready to be in a woman, he gets quite hard, and his prick sticks straight up in the air, don't you?”

Well, if she didn't, she knew now and nodded, eager to hear more.

“Yes, well. When he is lying down, she simply has to get above him and lower herself down onto him, so that he's inside her, and then she will buck herself up and down on top of him, or he up into her. Understand?”

she nodded again, though more slowly this time “Yes, I suppose,” I was sure she was trying to picture it as best she could “But what has that got to do with...you know...”

“Well, try to picture if you will, if that woman who was moments ago bouncing herself on a mans cock,” Oh, how I loved watching her squirm as I used such words “Then pulled herself up so she might then be sitting on his face, as our dear Harry said.”

“But why?” Came the immediate question “There is nothing to...to bounce on top of there?”

“No, but, it is where a mans tongue lies.”

I watched her try and puzzle it out, her eyes flicking over mine before looking over my own mouth, eyes blinking.

“Ladies are very sensitive down there, you know. Or do you? Sweetling, pray tell, have you ever touched yourself between your legs?” but her face turned redder than ever.

“No, I haven't, not ever!” she denied quite vehemently. 

“There is no shame in saying yes, sweetling. Please, believe me when I say that it's very normal for young ladies to do so, as boys do as well, and adults. Everyone does it.”

She looked at me like she wanted to believe that.

“My septa said only whorish girls do such a thing...”

I pulled her closer to me to whisper quite badly in her ear “I can tell you now that septa's are the ones who do it most, since they are denied having husbands.” and that made her giggle into my neck.

“Let me guess that you had a mean old septa, who told you off once quite badly?”

“She wasn't that mean...not really. I liked her for the most part, except that...well, I suppose I lied when I said I hadn't touched myself ever, though at the time I didn't really know what I was doing! I was only very little, but mother used to have this chair in her den, where we used to sit in the evenings, and sometimes I would...I would climb on top of it, over the arm piece, and I could ride it and it was only a game I played because it felt nice, I didn't know it was bad of me!”

The idea of sweet young Sansa Stark grinding herself against the furniture in secret had my restrained cock pressing up against my trousers, and it was an effort to keep myself in check. God, did she even know what she does to me?

“And did she catch you one day?”

She nodded “I got in trouble. And I was never usually in trouble! She gave me three slaps over her knee, and dragged me in front of mother and father both to tell them, and they looked so appalled at me!”

It all seemed to rush back to her, this terrible memory, and my hand was on her back in an instant to soothe her.

“No, no, don't get upset, it's alright. They were the wrong ones, scolding you so. Why, you see little boys with their hands on their pricks all the time, and they barely have a clue what they're doing either. Little girls only get judged more harshly.”

She sniffed slightly, lower lip still jutting out, all pink and inviting me to just kiss her then and there, so I did. She was so soft, and she kissed me back gently, but I mustn't get too ahead of myself. I pulled back, and was content to tuck her under the chin, her face still close to mine. She looked content, and did nothing to pull away.

“Now, where were we, I've quite forgotten?”

“You were saying ladies were very sensitive down there...and something about men and their tongues.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Now, can you guess where I may be going with this?” my own smile grew to match hers “It is truly a lovely sensation for a woman to have a man lick her, right there where you would rub yourself to feel good, and a soft tongue feels about a hundred times better than a hard chair arm, I assure you. They sometimes call a woman's cunny her lower lips, so it only makes sense for a mans own lips to meet here there.”

she smiled shyly “So it is like a kiss?” 

I laughed, and clapped a hand on her thigh, I couldn't help but draw her closer “Yes, that's what it is, it is exactly like a kiss! The best kiss there is.”

“And Harry wants to do that to me?” 

My laughter came to a stall as I maintained a smile “Yes. I would bet a lot of boys would want too, theres no doubt in my mind, but we won't be doing anything rash now, would we? Even if he asks you too?”

“No, I know I must wait till I've married him. Otherwise I'll be like Saffron, with nothing but his baby, and not what we need from him.”

Ah, how it warmed me to hear her take my lessons to heart “Yes, my clever girl. You leave Harry high and dry and wanting until he throws that cloak over your shoulders, and until then he can be happy playing with himself, like all the other little boys with their pricks in their hands.”

She giggled, but that lower lip jutted out ever so slightly again “Oh, but you've talked it up so much. It makes me almost want to try it now.”

Oh, gods be good, I heard a tease in her voice. A lilt, a look, a little shift in her bottom against me where she sat, and I was growing harder than ever.

“Then I suppose you will have to just touch yourself as well.” I breathed, so close to her “You can rub yourself against something. A chair, A pillow, perhaps, anything that feels good.” And as those words left my lips I felt the most gentle rock of her hips. A small movement, perhaps inspired on a whim by my words, as if she should test them then and there. It was brief and now she was tense against me, perhaps not knowing what to say about this new idea now put in her head, but the most wicked of ideas came to mine.

“Or here, you could use my leg if you'd like.” I patted my knee, and the little minx bit her lip.

“Father...” she gauged me, my intent, the last of her apprehensions seeming to leave her.

“Come now,” I guided her hips easily from my right knee over to my left, where her legs could straddle either side of my thigh, settling above me. I made sure to pull out her skirts, drape them in such a way that I could at least feel the outline of her bare legs, clad only in thin stockings, and her cunny resting against me. 

“Comfortable?” I asked, but I shouldn't expect an answer. There was a light and breathy laugh on her tongue, as her hands came forward to brace against my chest, and I took that as a yes.

“Now, ride my thigh, just like you did on that arm chair. That's it, yes,”

She gingerly began to rock against me, helped by my hands resting gently on her hips, to encourage her.

“Yes, yes,” I find myself breathing deeply “Does it feel good like that?” 

She nods, only a mute, as she ruts more deeply, grinds herself harder against the fabric of my breeches, chasing friction, chasing heat, her own little pants finding her, driving me mad with how sweet they sounded. She rolls her hips, wriggles her bottom, finds out what it feels like to rub herself in all the right spots, finding out which one felt best. I started thrusting up to meet her, small bucks of my hips, only to sate my own need, not wanting to disturb her at first, but oh, how she moaned. 

"Good girl," I urged "Do what feels good. Do you know this feels very good for me too?"

"Does it?" she seemed eager to please, and one particular jerk of my leg underneath her lead to the most intoxicating pitch of her voice, a mewl of arousal, cracking so sweetly as her vocal chords were not used to sounding out her need like this. All of this that was so very new, and it was here on my knee that she would find out the sweet pleasure her cunt could give her. That I could give her. I shall let her know every pleasure she was allowed to have under my touch, and I alone would lead this pretty little novice by the hand down a shaded path of debauchery, the moral and hypocritical swine of the world be damned.

She gasped as I jerked more violently underneath her, so that she toppled forward, closer to me, pressed tighter to my chest as she rode out my leg, gasping and rutting, gasping and rutting. My own heavy breathing joined hers as I thrust with abandon, lost in the feeling of her finding her pleasure atop me. My hands reached behind her to grip her ass, pulling her forward to press against my lap, my hard cock, straining to the point of desperation, and she moved with me, even rewarding me with another little moan.

“Are you aching?” I pant, sure there was sweat on my brow, and she nodded.

“Yes, yes, badly,” she clings to the fabric of my doublet “Please, please,”

I fumble about her skirt, hands searching for contact with her skin, and I find her thighs, fingers digging into them. She is the one, in her lust driven boldness, to pull up her skirts, bundling them up in her hands so that she may hold them at her breasts, baring her lower half entirely to me. Oh, the sight makes me shudder under her. Her skin is marble white and smooth, rounded thighs, the little curve of her belly, the way the straps of her stocking press so slightly into supple flesh. I yank down her smallclothes, and the sight of her bare sex is even greater, her cunny all pink and plump, with downy ginger curls, she is divine, and she is in need. I press my thumb to the top of her slit and rub for her, and she cries out and her whole body shakes as I am relentless. She falls against me, her head buried in the crook of my neck, gasping and crying as I rub that tender part of her with abandon. She is already slick with sweet smelling cum, and soon my fingers slip beneath her as well, and she is pressing against my hand, bucking against it even as I move against her, she is so desperate.

I come in my pants like a green boy of fourteen, teeth gritted, low, guttural moan drawn out of me, and it's not soon after that Sansa grows very taut, digging her knees violently into the chair either side of me, before she trembled, pulsing, humming, and goes slack against me.

We breathe like that for a moment. Oh, what wonderful things can come from a curious girl. My hand finds the back of her head, to pat softly at her hair that has come quite out of its style through our frantic efforts. It adorns her head like a tousled crown, and I am proud of her, and still so filled with lust for her that I thought I might never be free of it. I couldn't imagine not wanting her as I wanted her right now.

She pulled back and I stroked her. I traced down her arms, over her hands, her tummy, up under her dropped skirts to her thighs, and she let me, calm under my touch. My show of affection and reverence that fit better than any words could for what had passed between us.

Her eyes dropped to my crotch, at the wet stain.

“Can I see it?” she asked, coyly, and I laughed in the back of my throat.

“And earlier this evening I considered you shy?” I couldn't help but quip. 

Her gaze dropped, embarrassed, and I went to my laces before she could think I was saying no. What kind of fool would I be to deny this gorgeous girl the sight of my cock? I had thought of the same question falling from her lips too many times to count.

I was leant back, slid down amongst the cushions as she straddled me, watching the way my hands fiddled with the ties of my breeches, and she seemed in such a delighted state of anticipation, her face still flushed pink from her first climax, that I rather took my time.

When I pulled myself out for her to see, I was half hard, but I gripped myself and stroked languidly. She sat there and watched, drinking in the sight of my erection as it grew before her eyes. How every man dreams of a beautiful girl staring at their cock in just the way she did now? But they have not waited like I have.

“Do you want me to touch it for you? Like you did for me?” she asks, and I long to say yes, but I must be realistic.

“I won't be able to come again, not for a little while at least.” I sigh.

Oh, to be young again, when I would have been able to spurt my seed three times in the course of half an hour, but at an age when I had only myself to show the skill too. 

“Come? Is that what it's called?” she absorbs this all eagerly.

“Yes, yes, when you finish like that, it means you've come. When a man comes it shoots out of him. When a woman comes it's less dramatic,” My hand moved under to rub gently at the soft, wet, pad of her lips “But just as lovely.”

She shuffled off me, so that she may sit by my side, still close.

“I liked it,” she said in a small voice, and I can't describe what swelled within me. A triumph over all. Over Joffrey, the boy I stole her away from. The imp, whom never even came close to pleasing her, even as she was his wife. The Tyrells, who would have taken her and made her theirs, to Harry, who could only dream about making her sigh under his touch, as well as to honourable Ned Stark, and his brother, bastard that he was, now both dead as each other. I took your daughter, your niece, and I made her tremble above me, come for me, beg with a pretty sounding please to touch her between her legs. A triumph over an old septa, who tried her best to teach a little girl values she would not break, but here I am, crashing through them with abandon, and lastly, to Cat. Oh, dear, sweet Cat. This could have been you, but no. Life has a funny way of working, doesn't it? Fates weaving in and around each other to lead us down certain paths, blocking us at some, but then leading us down others we were perhaps meant to take instead. Now you are dead, as is your sister, as is your family. Save but one. The girl who was now my family. That path of debauchery I spoke of before? Well, your sweet daughter, prettier than you ever were, has taken my hand gladly, and is following me down, down, down and I won't have her looking back. In twenty minutes I may have her gripping my cock. Give me another night and she may be sucking it. The night after that I'll kiss her virgin cunny before I fuck it.

Oh, how you would be appalled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all asked so nicely for more, so here we are. An extended sexual education and enlightenment for our sweet girl Sansa. 
> 
> You know what I have this fic saved as on my computer? Flowery nonsense. So here, have about three whole paragraphs about Petyr waffling on about his own cock.

As I woke the next morning, I stirred in my bed, to look down and see that I was hard. For a second, I reach for myself, grip, but then stop as my mind wakes up as well as my body. No, no, no, I mustn't I am doing well. I have gone seven days of restraint, I can manage one more. I pull my hands back above the covers, breathe out through my nose, and wait for my stiffness to leave me.

This is about saving myself, you see. 

Since that night Sansa rutted atop me in my solar, I have held off, as hard as it has been. The education has started, the curiosity has been awakened, and I don't fear that it will leave her, so why rush through the motions? No, I am a man who likes to relish. I have spent my life feeding on scraps and morsels of all I truly want from life, so why gorge myself on this greatest of feasts? Sansa is a girl I will consume slowly, I decided. I will draw out the pleasure of her, for my own benefit, as well as hers, and I would rather spend myself on this particular pretty girls soft, white thighs, instead of my own soft, white, bed sheets.

The dreams I have had of her as of late have not helped my reserve though. The last few mornings I have woken with such an ache, an almost desperate longing to simply plunge myself inside her, that it is almost base, and I feel less a man and more an animal. The sun drifts in through the narrow windows, beckoning me to rise, and I am pressed amongst the pillows so lost in my own morning thoughts that I barely notice how my hips are thrusting into nothing, picturing her under me as I grind into the mattress. I use to dream of a girl by a lake, where I would take her in the softest patch of grass I could draw her down in, rising her skirts over her legs in the shade. I have had that dream so many times I could count how many daisies we make on our chains before we fuck.

Now my dreams are filled with a fire lit room, where I spy a girl straddling the arm of a chair, and I am only watching, until I wake up as my name is called out in her ecstasy.

It is a shame there is no lake close by, and I doubt I even remember how to knot a daisy chain, and so that dream eludes me. The thought gives me a dull ache, as it always has, but now I have a new dream to let my mind wander to, so that ache is almost forgotten. A dream that has a true chance of becoming a reality.

Sansa has been puzzled, I would think. I can see it on her face as the days passed, and I still have not bid her to join me in the solar for yet another night. She nods, and bids me goodnight, as pleasant as always, but it is in her look. Her eyes meet mine as she leaves for her own chambers, and she wonders if she has done something wrong. If what has happened truly happened at all, or if it mattered.

Perhaps it is cruel to act as if nothing has happened, but it is good for her to watch me this way. There is still an act to perform, a lie we must live every moment we are in another presence, and she mustn't start acting differently before me. So I will act no different towards her, and she will learn. I trust her to understand this, though a part of me likes being cruel, and wants to stoke the fires of her need. 

I have been lusting for her for what feels like most of my life, though I have only known her a few short seasons. Let her own little spark of desire fill her, leave her longing, a most awful kind of suffering. I hoped her own fingers itched beneath bed linens, rubbed at the sensitive spot I revealed to her, fumbling and un-skilled but oh so anxious to be on the brink of something she knows will change her once she discovers it. 

And here I go again, growing hard under my covers, when I should be getting up to start the day. I look down at the tent beneath the sheets as if my body has betrayed me.

Now, I must admit that I am fairly average when it comes to the size of my cock, as I know from all the varied shapes and sizes of all the men I have laid eyes on in my time. This is a consequence of my profession, and not from choice, mind you. I cater to all tastes, and not one wants a woman, and just as I inspect the women I sell, so must the men be checked to see if they are at my establishments standards. I don't run a back alley business, where you toss me a coin, and a toothless hag sucks you against a tavern wall, I am a man of repute and standards, and all that I offer is worth the money. Then there are the customers. For all the bare bosoms and fine asses of the women I have gazed on under my employ, I must also be witness to the men that sit beneath them, before them, behind them, above them and in any other state of nude bumbling you can think of. Often it is as if I am part of the décor, almost. They give me the gold, I host the orgies, the nights of debauched fun, and as the fine young beauties are brought before them, I am forgotten, and their pricks are already whipped out in their hands, pondering who to poke first. I am a voyeur to all their depravity and shame.

I suppose it is a very intimate line of work that I find myself in, and perhaps after confessing their deepest desires and dirtiest of tastes, the men feel quite at ease with me. I am a genial and most professional man, after all, and never show them any judgement. They don't expect me to, really. If it a shame to visit a brothel, then the man who runs them must be the most shameful of all, and I can't say they're not wrong. Of course I try and temper their shame, comfort them about any doubts they may have about indulging themselves, since that puts more in my pocket. Often I think I put men too at ease, as I have had patrons who have no qualms stripping off and admitting concerns about their own endowments, and I must dutifully look and assure them that, no, of course not! Why, what a fine cock you have, I'm sure the girls cannot wait to be pleasured by such a hearty looking tool! and so and so forth, even if said cock IS only about two and a half inches. At it's best. Of course, this is even better remedied by bringing in three paid girls to gasp, and exclaim, and drop to their knees to worship such a fine looking two inches, so desperate are they to have it fill them immediately that they are already tugging him towards a bed. As I said before, what my employees and I offer is worth the money. I teach them to stroke an ego, as well as a cock.

So, in a way it is a relief to know that I am at least better off then some men of the world, and for a man who suffers through the less than endearing name of 'Littlefinger' I am at least bigger than is often expected of me. I sit a good few inches under the rankings of the best that I've laid eyes upon, and I have seen some monsters in my day, cocks that sent some girls running scared and others simply eager to see if they could fit all of it within them. I suppose some took it as a challenge. I knew of one from the summer isles who would often frequent us once a fortnight, and by god the man was huge. I can tell you, no lie, that it was almost as long as my forearm. I found out it became almost a matter of pride and competition between some of my girls to see who could take him in all the way, because I can say that women are not particularly designed to take someone so big. There was a running tally in their private dressing room downstairs, his name marked on parchment that was hung upon the wall, with names of the girls who managed to take him entirely with their mouths. An even bigger challenge.

I'm sorry, I've gone a bit off course. Rambling about work. How dull. Anyway, yes, overall, I would say I am happy with my own appendage, average as it may be, and I am eager for Sansa to see it again. At least I don't have one of those dreadful bent ones, or the too long thin ones, or the too squat short ones. Even as I think now, I can recall all manner of strange looking pricks, Sansa would scarcely be able to believe the variety they come in.

Not that I plan that she see's any, of course! I intend to educate the girl, but not that thoroughly. I will be enough for her, surely, and my cock will be the only one she need see.... and, yes, I suppose I must begrudgingly accept that she will see Harry's in time. 

I pray he has a bent one.

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The day passes slowly, and drearily, considering I have to busy myself going over four different families accounts. All four are noble in name, and slow in wits, and their houses fortunes have dwindled so low they are all but begging for me to aid them. It is an effort to witness them still cling to their pride, sitting before me as if they know they are my better, even as they beg for gold. They should be glad I am such a generous Lord protector.

I only see Sansa at breakfast, though this is a time she is most busy fussing over Robin, where she must spoon feed him every bite of his porridge as if he was a babe. He permits no other person in the castle this honour.

Of course now the sun has set, and my papers and quills set away, replaced by well arranged books on numeracy and literacy. Ones more designed for novices. The members of the household must not be thought of as dumb, and I must maintain some pretence for inviting my daughter in for 'lessons'.

“Go and fetch my daughter for her readings, if you would.” I bid to the serving girl as she finishes stoking the fire “And then you may retire yourself.”

She scampers off and I pour myself some wine, then on a sudden thought, I grab another glass and fill that one too.

It isn't long before there is the creak of the chamber door being opened, and there she stood.

“Daughter,” I held out the glass for her.

“Father,” She crossed the hearth and took the wine gingerly from my hands.

I noticed that under her cloak were her night clothes, the sheer white gown causing her to shiver slightly, so I put my hand to the small of her back.

“Here, you're cold, come over to the fire. Drink up, even. That will definitely warm you.” I guide her down to sit with me, and after her first taste of the fine arbor vintage, her tongue darts out to lap at a stray droplet of the wine on her lips. That smallest of movements has me staring keenly, but she only has eyes for the well worn rug at our feet. She is nervous. Perhaps waiting so long for our next foray into debauchery was not a wise move. 

“Do you like it?” I gesture to the wine.

“Oh, yes. Very much. Thank you,”

Her words have that stiffness to them, and I notice her back is very straight as she perches on the edge of the cushions. This will not do. I want her languid. I wanted her coy little smile. I wanted her melting under me.

“Here, let me take your cloak,” I offer, and she unties the string, and the rough spun wool slips from her shoulders. I am the one to tug it away completely, so she is left to the coldness of the chamber. As I toss the cloak aside, I can already see her nipples hard under plain fabric.

“You look ready for bed,” my hand darts out to feel exactly how thin the material of her night gown was, and she blushes.

“I was. I have gone to bed around this time for the last few days, father. As you haven't been sending for me,”

Ah, a little barb to her words.

“Sansa, don't tell me you're upset about that?” I mock frown, playing as if she has hurt me with such an accusation.

She look back down to the rug, voice a mumble “I said no such thing,”

“Yes you did, I hear it in your tone, and see it in your pout. Did you feel ignored?”

There is a pause, and she glances at me under lashes that are entirely too long, blinking them in a fashion that makes me think she knows how lovely that makes her look, before nodding.

I open my arms and neither of us say a word as she puts her wine down and fumbles on her knees to cross the pillows and embrace me. My arms encircle her waist and I rub at her back with one hand, my own wine held in the other “That was not my intent, sweetling. I hate that I have been busy, as I would have sent for you every night if I could.”

“But you didn't.” she pressed, sitting up, legs shifting to straddle me already.

“And I apologise. There? I am sorry,” I kissed her cheek “truly,” I kissed the other “very,” and then her lips “sorry. Do you forgive me?”

A smile was my answer, as much as it seemed she wanted to suppress it “I suppose,”

“You suppose?” I laugh at her gall “I suppose you are not as over it as you say. Must I do something to make it up to you, sweetling? Is that what you imply with an answer like that?”

My hand lowers from her waist to just above the cleft of her ass, and even in the low firelight I can see the blush on her cheeks.

“You could do something,” she says, in a hesitant voice “You could answer more of my questions.”

“You have more?” I feign a slight shock “My, what an inquisitive girl my daughter is and what a lovely trait that is to have. Ask away, sweet girl, I'll give you the best answers I can, if it is the only way I can be forgiven.”

“When you touched me, between my legs...well, rubbing against your leg felt good, but when your fingers touched one spot...it felt even better.”

“And you want to know why?” I finished for her, and she nodded.

“Here,” I hold my own wine to her lips “Take another drink first.”

I watch the muscles of her throat gulp down another two mouthfuls, before I pull the glass back. This time I reach to kiss her wine stained lips before she can lick the taste away.

“Right, Now, lift up your night dress for me.”

She wriggles to sit up on her knees, spread over me as she bundles up the material and holds it at her tummy, so that I may see her smooth, un-stockinged legs, her bare sex in all its loveliness, and every other fine curve she possessed below her waist.

“Up higher,” I urged, and she hesitates a fraction, before she rolls up the nightgown slowly, stopping so that I can only see the under curve of her breasts.

“Higher.” 

She watches me with eyes that had something behind them, though I could not be certain of what. Even so, her fingers again inch upwards, so that the pink peaks of her nipples are eventually bared. As lovely as I could have ever wished them to be. 

“I thought you were going to touch me between my legs again?” she asked, dress held all the way up under her chin.

“Oh? I thought you only wanted me to tell you about it, I didn't say anything about touching you down there?” I deliberately teased, hand stroking up her side.

“But....will you? Touch me down there again?”

I answer with my hand, dipping it across her stomach, eyes fixed on the pad of her lips. I dip my hand under her, to feel up between folds, until I find her wetness. I let my fingers glide shallow into the part of her cunny, resisting the urge to simply slip a finger inside her. I wanted to feel how tight she was.

“Here?” I ask up to a face half hidden behind her night gown.

“No,” she writhed, from pleasure, bashfulness, or both. 

I slipped my finger up further, now pinching softly at pink flesh, playing with her “Not here either?”

“Stop it, I know you know where.” 

I can't contain my smile as I smooth my hand all the way up to the front of her lips, using my fingers to part her before me, so that I could see the small hood, and the hidden pearl.

“I think you know where too,” I massage at her lightly, still not giving her quite what she needed “I don't doubt for a second that you've used your own hand to explore yourself at night all on your own, sweetling. Am I right? Have you found that sweet spot yourself more than once? You shouldn't lie to your father if you have.”

She did not look too shamed to be caught, as a little kittenish smile graced her face. This was just as much of a fun game to her as it was too me, and that made me enjoy it all the more.

“I did touch myself a little.”

“And? What did you find out as you rubbed at your little cunny? What discoveries have you made?”

She paused as if to think, before saying “That it's not as fun on my own.”

Oh, I wonder if she knows how funny she can be “A sentiment shared by many,” I laugh, finally letting my thumb slip down to touch her where she craved “Now, here. Here is where it feels good, doesn't it?”

“Mmmm,” is the answer I get, a low murmuring yes as she keens slightly forward, breasts pushed closer towards me.

I rub and encircle it, toy with the little nub of hers, touching it with long strokes, and short strokes, all of which she enjoyed. Mostly she enjoyed the circles, the quick, tight circles I pressed upon the most sensitive part of her. Her breathing grew a little heavier, as I quickened, and dipped down to slick some of the wetness from her opening up her slit, so that lovely, wet sounds hit our ears from the movements of my hand.

My other hand lowered behind her, over her ass, cupping under the soft flesh, kneading and gripping. As I did so, I could slip my finger between her cheeks to stroke at her from behind. She leant even more forward over me, her own hips rocking over my hand, her arms rested on my shoulders, so that her breasts bounced slightly before me, the motion of them divine enough to make me reach forward and take one in my mouth.

A soft little gasp, and a jerk of her body, as I sucked at her, toyed with her hard nipple with my tongue. She pulled back, my spit glistening slightly on her skin as she gazed down at me, lips parted , searching for words.

“Why would you....I thought only babes would-”

“My dear,” I say, a little breathless myself “you know of mens desire to kiss you below your skirts, surely it is not too strange a notion to kiss upon your other treasures, and such treasures as lovely as yours would be wasted on babes.”

She laughed shyly, such a sweet sound “You say such strange things some times.” but she let me bring my mouth down upon her again, all while she rubbed herself over my working hands.

“Now, tell me that doesn't feel good,” I moan against the skin of her chest, darting a tongue out to lap at her nipple, making her squirm over the ticklishness of it.

“It does, it does,” she cried, now rolling her hips, finding new rhythms, new ways to move herself. A crack in her voice told me she was perhaps close, and even as my hand grew tired, I let up for nothing “Oh, it feels so good, so good, it all feels so good.” I felt the muscles of her ass clench, saw her eyes close as it all picked up the more frantic pace of a girl losing herself to her body. Her cries as she came seemed even sweeter than the night before, her naked body writhing above me, her strangled sighs escaping her as I all but held her up as she came.

I was more controlled this time, even as I ached, with my cock straining below her, I was still unfinished.

She leant against me, breath coming to her in pants, a proud smile on her face as she caught me staring. There is nothing like the glow of a girl after she comes. Nothing.

Her night dress has tumbled down back over her, and she has sat her ass down astride me, and surely she must feel me through my breeches. To make sure, I lift up to thrust gently beneath her.

“Can you feel me, sweetling? Feel how hard I am?”

“Yes,” she wriggled her bottom to taunt me, and I slide my hands over her thighs.

“Would you like to see me again? You seemed to keen to see it last time?”

She doesn't bother to nod, she simply shifts herself back, so she can pull at the laces of my breeches herself. 

“Greedy girl. So eager. Though I suppose I should be blamed, making you wait so long to see it again. Have you thought about touching it, at the same time as you touched yourself?”

Her fingers are clumsy as she unties me, the delicate brushed of her fingers grazing against my erection, teasing through the fabric. I want to watch her work, but I am too impatient. I cannot help but rip open my breeches myself, my already hard cock released before her.

Her fingers reach, but stall at the top of my leg, fingers itching.

“Grip it. Take me in your hand,” I guide her, and she does so tentatively “And you didn't answer my question, sweetling.”

She is focused on my cock, but answers in a small voice as she slowly moves her hand up and down “I did think about it...I thought...I thought what it might be like to put inside me. I know that is what it is for.” 

I groan simply from hearing her say it, thrusting up under her hand “Oh, you can do many things with it,” I say, my voice strained as she rubbed up and down me. It felt good, but it could feel better “Spit on your hand.”

Her eyes flick up to mine “What?” 

“It feels better,” I explain, not liking how her hand had already stalled so early on “it will help your hand move over me, like how mine did under you with the wetness between your legs.”

“but...but to spit...”

Oh, she was ever the lady. Even as I had her coming in my lap, she was a noble girl raised with etiquette. I doubted she'd ever spat in her life.

“Sansa,” I managed to keep my voice steady, even as I ached “try for me, sweetling, I am teaching you. This is how it's done.”

She looked at me with doubtful eyes, but all the same, raised her hand to cup under her mouth. I could see her blush red, of all the things in this evening to blush about, as she let a little dribble of spit pool in the palm of her hand. She brought it back down to my cock, but it was not enough.

“There is a another way,” I tell her “Bring your lips to my cock and take me with your mouth. Forget your hand, coat me that way.”

At this I got the same apprehensive stare, as if she thought I was playing with her.

“Sansa,” I let out, quite sternly this time, if only to stop myself before I started to beg for the release this girl was so close to giving me.

When she hurried to bend her head I could feel her warm breath over my sensitive tip, as she paused before simply kissing the head of my cock, with soft parted lips. It was gentle and innocent, despite the debauched nature of the act.

“That's it, good girl,” I urged, to make up for my sternness, my hand coming up to thread gently through her hair. I wished to thrust up my length so her mouth was full, and I could rub myself against the side of her cheek, have her gag on me, saliva running down her chin, but she was new to this, and I must be gentle, and so I stroked and crooned and encouraged.

“Good girl,” I said again as she stretched her mouth gingerly over my cock, and the noise I made hissed through clenched teeth “Up and down, sweetling. Move your head up and down.”

I only guided her very gently with my hand, as she moved with a little more confidence “Hold me with your hand as you suck, and use your tongue, but not your teeth. There, yes, that feels good when you do it like that.”

She no doubt heard the kind words, the thing I knew always inspired her the most, and she bobbed a little too much, and I heard a little gag as she tried to take me further, though it was hardly all the way. She lifted her head briefly “Sorry,” she said, looking slightly despondent “This is hard...it's hard to fit it all in my mouth. It's too big.”

Oh, how could a man be mad when a girl says such a thing as that?

“No, you're doing well, sweet girl, so well, keep going. Just your tongue, run it along the under side, all the way to the tip.”

She bent her head again, and what a sight it was to see her pink tongue dart out to lay flat against the base of me, and lick slowly, so agonisingly slowly, all the way to the head so that I moaned “Yes, run your tongue over me, right there, right at the tip. Suck me right there.” the words tumbled from my mouth, as she drew up again and sucked.

I couldn't last any longer, I needed release. As her head rose again, hand still upon me, I spat into my own hand and coated myself as I needed to be. Sansa let me thread my fingers with hers around my length, as I guided her in joint strokes. 

“See how easier it is to stroke me like this, sweetling? How you glide over me? You can grip a little harder, no need to be so delicate. There you are, yes, just like that. A little faster. Very good....you're very good at this,”

I moved faster and faster, mostly through my own efforts, with Sansa watching and moving her hand with mine. This was her learning, absorbing it all. She would so this with her own hand, soon enough, as these skills I offered her where embedded and engrained in her mind. For now simply staring at her entranced face was as nice a pleasure, her eyes glued in wonder to the swelling head of my cock, red and glistening with pre-cum, her lips parted. 

“Are you going to come?” she asked.

“Ye-es,” I panted, in a broken gasp, as I jerked myself harder over her small hand “That's it. Good girl, good girl,” I urged on, even if I was doing most of the work. Good girl, good girl, It became a chant, and god knows how many times it fell from my lips as I reached the height of ecstasy, felt the familiar warmth creep up from the base of my cock, before all at once I came. A shot of pearly white liquid escaped me, a great amount of it, as I had abstained for almost a week from pleasuring myself. It shot into the air ,and Sansa winced away as it hit her cheek, and then another smaller spurt followed. One more long pump down my length brought up the last of it, which drizzled lazily down over both our hands, and I held her there over me as I let out a breath I had held, my body finally relaxing.

“It's warm,” was the first thing Sansa said, relinquishing her grip on me to stare at her cum covered fingers, tacking them together to feel the sticky mess.

I gazed at the cum on her face, and went to wipe at it with my thumb, smiling at her affectionately. Proud of her.

“You didn't say it would...all come up like that.”

“I'm quite certain I did,” I say, trying to recall.

“I don't think so....and it's so messy, look it's all over you.” she giggled, and I had to admit, it would be an embarrassment to give these to the washer women tomorrow. But it is not as if they would think that I had help in spilling myself all over my breeches...and tunic...and Sansa's night dress. Oh, dear.

“This,” I tugged at the offending garment “Shall have to be hidden in your room until you can bring a warm water and wash cloth to it yourself. The serving girls will know what this is.”

She nodded solemnly in understanding.

“Don't worry, I will hide it in my trunk. I'll wrap it up in one of the old cloaks I never wear.”

“Good girl.” I draw her down with me, so that she can fit at my side, and she has no qualms with this.

“This is very bad of us, isn't it?” she says, after a moment or two of warm silence.

There isn't fear in her voice, nor even nerves. It is simply something she understands.

“Yes, sweetling. It is.” I feel no need to lie. I would not insult her like that. Our little game was fun, but we saw it for what it was, and what lied beyond it.

“But you are still a good girl, if that is what you are worried about.” 

I stroke my thumb over her cheek, in the same spot I wiped at my cum, and she gives me a wry smile, with eyes downcast, that doesn't suit her youthful face. 

“I don't think I am....not really. You're only saying that to be kind.”

“No,” I shake my head “I say it because I find it true. What is your definition of a good girl? A girl who never asks questions? Never doubts what her septa told her? Never spits in her hand?” I taunt, and she laughs as I tickle against her ribs at that.

“Do you want to know what my definition of a good girl is?” I whisper, lowly, a secret between us “A good girl is a girl who listens to her father, and sweet girl, do you do everything I ask of you? Are you dutiful, and loyal, and loving to your dear father?”

A sly smile of understanding crept across her face, as just like that I buried the reality and made the game all that mattered, and she nodded, head half hidden in the pillows, our faces inches apart “Yes.” she whispered, bringing the sweetness to our sins in a way I was sure only she could do.

“And what do fathers want for their little girls?” I hovered over her lips.

“Only what's best for us.” she answered, as she let me kiss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 1800's erotica I was referring to in the first authors comments is known as 'The Pearl' and it's a series of monthly publishings. A couple of people seemed interested. Be prepared to hear breasts often referred to as 'bubbies' with men's penis's named 'love wands' far too often.


	3. Chapter 3

After that last night of amorous fondling, I was told off quite thoroughly.

“You're not to ignore me for the next week, and let me sit all alone in my chambers after every dinner, I shall die of boredom if you do!” Sansa had cried “Besides, my bedmaid commented on the strangeness of you not sending for me, everyone knows it is our routine, even if they do only think I study over old books of yours for hours. I lied to her and said I had said something rude to you, pretending to be ashamed, and that now you were most likely punishing me for being insolent.”

I had stroked her hair and told her that by denying my sweet girl I had pained myself as well, and I resolved that we would meet every second night. She had smiled and said that she would tell her bedmaid how she had apologised to me, and being the sweet father that I was, I had forgiven her, and our lessons would commence again. I found the self-concieved lie of hers so charming I could not help but kiss her once more before sending her on her way.

Now after every lesson, of every second night, I would still attempt the occasional spot of learning, thrusting a book under her nose to tell about past kings, their queens, their follies and their downfalls, but Sansa would barely make it through a half hour before she would close her book and look at me with sparkling eyes that pleaded for a different kind of education. She had all the eagerness of youth, and less and less of the innocence.I would pat my knee in invitation for her to jump up and climb upon my lap, where she loved to roll her hips over the hardened point of my cock through my breeches. This is what she liked to do first, she told me, what got her all excited and breathless, and I must say it got me quite excited and breathless as well. Too see her gasp and giggle with bashful delight as she rocked her little hips in my lap, where I could make her squeal as I thrust up hard beneath her soft cunny.

Then I would ask her if she wanted me to rub at her with my fingers, and she still managed to make her 'yes, please, father' sound shy as I pulled down her small clothes.

As she gave me this sweet gift night after night, I thought it would sate my desire, but instead it only inflamed it. A stupid notion really. Like a child nibbling on only the smallest pinches of cake, thinking it would halt him from devouring the whole thing. Sansa was a sweet treat I had developed a taste for and now I was more ravenous than ever. A dangerous realisation, as I knew the limit to which I could go with her, for the sake of a marriage that could make and break all I've worked for....but when I had her trembling under my hands, it was harder to discern what was more important: what I had worked for all these years, or what I had yearned for for even longer still? 

It was a divine kind of torture to have her spread her legs, show off her pouting lips and pretty pink slit that lay between the softest of ginger curls that only just begun to appear with her blossoming womanhood.I restricted myself to touch, and rub, and gaze, so close I could taste the sweet aroma of her on my tongue. So pained was I to think I could simply bring the head of my cock to her opening and plunge myself within her. I could do it, I thought, she would let me, no doubt in my mind she would let me. I would teach her ways to deceive Harry, tricks whores used to sell their maidenheads a hundred times, I knew them all, it would be so easy...but then sense comes to me, and I stop myself. It was much easier still to see sense in the light of morning, where I woke alone, with a clear head and empty arms, than in the evening when I had her in the candlelight. Surely I was a blessed man and a cursed one. 

On this night Sansa was more restless over her books than usual, rolled over on her tummy before the fire, flipping idly over the pages. I saw her legs stroking restlessly against each other, and every now and then she would go as far to kick them up lazily in the air. She had forgone her stockings for the evening, I saw, often losing count of the numbers I should be paying attention too in my own work.

“How is your reading going? Do you find it interesting?” I ask her.

“I suppose,” Came a lacklustre answer “I like learning about the Kings and Queens more than the wars. Can we finish for the night? I'm almost through the whole chapter, I can read more tomorrow. I promise.”

I sigh as if exasperated, but really I am more amused than anything “You said you would have read the last chapter by tonight, but yet you had to finish it here and now as you hadn't touched it. That's why you were slower getting through this one, and if you leave it in the same manner, you'll only be behind on what I want you to read in the days to come,”

She turns and juts out a bottom lip, as if I am being terribly un-fair “But I will read it this time, I promise.”

I put down my quill and let her squirm under my gaze for a few moments, before beckoning my hand.

“Well, then come and look your father in the eye and give him a kiss, if you are to make a promise and mean to keep it.”

She recognises the lilt in my voice by now, and her blue eyes laugh up at me and the pink lips part in a smile as she hurried up off the floor and over to me. My hands go to her waist and pull her down for the kiss. She is soft and smiling as our lips meet, and I think we both know she has no intentions of doing any reading.

“Father, I have another question,” she smiles as she pulls away, her eyes cast down, her finger tips playing with the end of the ribbon at her bodice “About something Myranda said to me the other night.”

“More eavesdropping?” I tease, but she shakes her head.

“No, it was last night, when she slept over in my bed and we were whispering under the covers. She asked me if I had ever played with myself,”

Sansa turns slightly pink as she shares this little tidbit, but I can't say I am too surprised. I have known the girls often sleep over in each other rooms, it is something young girls are want to do, and theres no doubt in my mind Myranda is a girl with a good knowledge of her own cunt.

“And what did you tell her, sweetling? Nothing of this, I hope.” 'this' meaning my hand at her waist, her forgone stockings and what we would no doubt be doing once our talk was done.

“No, of course not, I would never!” she seems offended at the notion, and I am glad “I pretended to have never touched myself down there ever in my life, and she believed me easily, she thinks me ever such a little maid.”

“You look like ever such the little maid,” I tucked her under her chin “she would never guess the little minx you hide under such a prim guise.”

She seems almost proud at hearing that, a compliment of sorts.

“She told me she touches herself lots, and told me all sorts about stroking herself and what part was most sensitive, and I had to nod along as if I didn't already know it. She even offered to touch me herself, but I said I was just too shy, and couldn't imagine doing such a thing, and so she let off, only saying I could come to her any night I wanted, to see her and learn.”

My eyebrows raise “She is vying for my title.” I quip, feeling somewhat challenged for the position of corrupter of Sansa Stark “I am glad you didn't let her under your small clothes. After all, all that honey down there is saved for me isn't it?”

I kiss her neck, a possessiveness rising up in me, and she giggled. 

“Honey?”

“Yes, honey. The lovely spendings from your cunt, sticky and sweet smelling, I can't think of a better word for it, can you?”

“You say such silly things sometimes,” she giggled more, as I pepper more kisses all along her neck, having been told the night before last that my beard tickles her so when I do.

“Though there is something she said that I wanted to ask about.”

My kisses pause so that my mouth hovers over her heated skin “And that is?”

“She says it's nice to...to put your fingers inside yourself. Or have someone else do it for you...but I was worried that I can't do that. Because of Harry.”

Because of Harry, my own mind spat the words back at me cruelly, but my expression said nothing.

“You were worried that it would perhaps take your maidenhead, to do such a thing?” I said, and she nodded “A valid worry, in a way. You were right to come to me first with this.”

“So I was right, I can't do it? Will it ruin me if I did put a finger up there? Myranda can, she's been married already, no one expects her to have her maidenhead, she's free to do as she likes, but me, I thought-”

“Ruin yourself?” I interrupt “My girl, never should you use that phrase in your own regard again, I will not hear of it. No, it wouldn't ruin you. Not at all.”

As I speak, I think of Myranda. Specifically, Myranda being the one to encourage Sansa to frig herself with her fingers, even offering to do it for her. She may have her own ideas of wether it would 'ruin' Sansa or not.

“I was told it hurt to put a mans thing inside yourself. You always hear about maidens bleeding on the sheets in their wedding night, and that maesters can check beforehand, and know if you are still a maiden or if you are lying.”

“Not all maidens bleed, some do, some don't.” I tell her, my hand strokes at her back “There is a stretch of skin over the inside of you, very thin, and it can break from all manner of things, even horseback riding. Something common in highborn girls. Septons and maesters and lords all know this, and take it into account, you shouldn't worry.”

Her eyes flicker across the hearth, her mind running over my words “So...does that mean I can? Use my fingers I mean? Myranda says it feels so lovely...”

A smile spreads across my face as I push back my chair, patting the wooden desk before me “You can, and it does, and you need not wait until you are alone back in your bed to find out.”

Perhaps this is folly. Perhaps it would be wiser to keep her in tact, let Harry break her, let their sham of a wedding be as authentic as we can manage to make it, but ah, here is that point where sense starts to lose to want. Around the point where Sansa hitches her bottom up on the polished wood of my desk, shuffling herself back, her lip being bit in nervous apprehension.

Fuck Harry, fuck Myranda, fuck sense. All for the sake of fucking my sweet, sweet Sansa.

Only my fingers, I told myself. Forced myself to remember.

“Open your legs, sweetling, nice and wide for me.”

She starts shyly, her knees resting only a foot apart, and it takes me to pull them apart wide enough so that she is splayed before me. I rouche up her dress, over her bare legs, which I stroke, always marvelling at just how soft her milk white skin is.

“Lay back,” I command and she complies, eyes still peering down at me, ever curious.

I pull up her dress all the way to her waist and now she is bare to the night air and me, a chance to again survey all her charms, a sight I doubt I would ever tire of. I should have let her buck herself against my knee, get herself excited, she is hardly as wet as I want her. My fingers drift over the pouting lips and begin to rub. Some of her apprehension leaves her, I can tell, as she is starting to know this touch so well.

My cock starts throbbing and standing as I work over her, taking my time while watching the delicious wrigglings of her backside as her breath starts to catch in her throat.

“When will you put it in, father?” she asks, panting, and her words alone make my body tighten in the effort of holding myself back.

“Patience, sweetling, patience...I need more of that honey from you yet,” I probe at the opening of her slit where the first traces of wetness dampen my fingers. I glide my fingers along the inner lips of her cunny, spreading it, until eventually I smear her entire sex with the glistening sheen of her cum until she is wet all over, and moaning.

“I am ready now, I must be,” she keened, hips rising off the desk to meet my fingers in urgency. I pinch and rub at her clit one last time to test her, and she jerks up under my touch, her gasp shrill and high. She is as ready as she says is, but still I play, a selfish act on my part, watching her need strip away her demureness every time my finger tips encircled that blessed spot.

I do not give her warning. I give it another few moments of sighing and heavy breaths, her head falling back, her eyes closing, hips undulating. Then I part her folds, revealing every inch of her to me, a sight I am the first to see, fuck any man who comes after, I was the one to gaze upon this most glorious cunt first, me, the most deserving of such a reward.

As my finger tip starts to break my way through the tight channel, her breath almost stops all together, replaced with a marvelled silence, her eyes snapping open. She finds her voice again as I push my way slowly inside of her. A little crack in her voice from pain, and I can see her body tensing. 

“Good girl,” I mutter as I feel her breaking, a cry escaping her as I slip all the way inside, past my knuckle. Gods she is warm and her walls hold me so tightly, as thin as my finger is. It hurts her, I can see, but she stays silent, lips pressed together not uttering a thing. A silent urge to keep going.

Slowly I thrust my finger in and out of her, her wetness making her take me with a new found ease. I watch, transfixed, at the way I bury one finger, then two, all the way inside her. She blushes at the rude sounds of her sucking cunt as she all but drags my fingers in, where I pull them back, covered in her sweetness. I implore a curling of my fingers, gentle inside of her, and am rewarded with the softest of moans.

I am painfully hard beneath my breeches, over the scent of her, the sight of her, and in that moment I think of the taste of her, yes, I must have the taste of her. The idea seized me and my mind could think of nothing else in that second, and I don't say a word as I bend and consume her, my tongue delving into the sweet recesses of her cunny. I hear her gasp above me, thighs tightening around my head in shock, and everything is muffled as I bury my face into her, tongue lapping at her folds, nose pressing to her clit, I am determined to suck every inch of her. A man must never be hesitant in lavishing attention on his ladies lower half, a hesitant, darted tongue, barely licking across her will not do. A man must act as if starved, his ladies spendings being his only nourishment, the sweetest thing he has ever tasted, a drug of which he cannot consume enough of, so high it makes him. I pushed my tongue inside of her, as deep as I could, and even with her thighs clenched tight around my ears, I heard her cry out as I sought, entangled, drew back and darted in again and again.

Her sounds were pure, nothing like the drawn out moans of bought whores, who's obligation was to feign their pleasure . Actresses, under warm flesh, that's what whores were, and I knew better than most.

No. No Sansa's sounds were light and airy and so very surprised. A low little whine left her as I flicked and sucked at the top of her slit, her body squirming. I pawed my hands around her thighs, grabbing at her ass to pull her even more onto my impassioned tongue, so that I might bury my face even further into her.

When her pleasure took her, I fear I could have been crushed her legs wrapped around me so tightly, so roughly did her hips jerk up off the desk to mash against my avid mouth as I sucked for the last moment on her clit, as engorged as it was, as she came in my mouth. I kept up my sucking all through her cries as she rode out the tremors that were running through her body, shuddering and bucking through the heightened pleasure. Even as she came down from that ecstasy I would not let up my languid sucking, making her almost sob with how swollen and sensitive she was.

I pulled back to look upon her and she was a girl practically overflowing. I took, long, indulgent, licks to capture all she'd given me, chasing each drop and lapping it up. I was not a man to waste.

As finally I stood, I gazed upon her face. Sansa had her hands clasped over her mouth, her blue eyes sparkling over them, looking right back at me with a kind of weak wonderment. 

This is what she first came to me about, wasn't it. A question about the meaning of a dripping quim, how it felt, why it would be pleasurable. Now she knew the answer to all three questions and more.

“You didn't say you were going to do that...” she mumbled, her senses reaching her again.

I stroked a hand over a bare thigh that now hung limply over the table, her body all but melted.

“I couldn't help myself, sweetling. Forgive me, though I can hardly be blamed. You just have such a luscious looking cunt, you see? Exactly the kind a man wants to kiss, and fuck, and fondle.” I pull her up by the hands to sit before me and I kiss her chastely on the forehead, which is damp with her sweet. She nods up her head at me, imploring silently for a kiss to her lips, and I grant her that too, letting my tongue fill her mouth with the taste of her own cunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how much writing I'll be able to do while I'm in study hibernation, but I'm glad I at least got this up. It's a fun story to write, and yes, Petyr is slightly cringey with how full of himself he is, and the use of the word 'honey' like. God. This old creep. I love him.
> 
> The next chapter to 'cheap thrills and expensive tastes' is half written, and that update will come next, if any one was keen for it.


	4. Chapter 4

“Girl, tell me, where did you learn to fold linen? Were you taught by your mother, or did the animals from the barn you were no doubt raised in teach you? This is silk from Lys! Take it back down to the steam room to take out the creases, and send someone who knows what they're doing back up to replace you!”

The young girl with the too-tight plaits and smattering of freckles leaves in tears, clutching my tunics, her steps quick footed as she escapes me.

That was ill-done of me. I am in a contemptuous mood, and the girl could not be blamed for that. Though her being insufferably incompetent is hardly my fault.

Even so, I should not let a temper take hold of me. One must always give caution to a keeps keepers. The chamber maids, the washer women, the serving boys, and all assorted others who are privvy to so many comings and goings and whom are so often ignored. They are silent but they watch. They don't answer back, but they listen. Vary's was one such man who saw their worth, and I would like to stay on the best side of the the help myself, when I can help it.

Oh, but why am I in a bad mood you ask?

I am leaving for a trip to Gulltown, setting out in the wee hours of tomorrow morning, that's why. Hence my poorly packed linens. A trunk is placed in front of me, half full, and I no longer have the patience to pack the rest of it right now, tedious job that it is.

I would much rather be with my girl. Sansa. So recently I have had the pleasure of pleasuring her, and so soon I am to spend my nights and days alone again. Well, not truly alone. I shall have a small travelling party, but I doubt hired knights, and a bevy of lords to attend to in Gull Town, will have such tender kisses and sweet thighs in which to bury my face between. No, I will spend days in a cloistered wheel house on empty stretches of road, and in offices that aren't my own, making deals and plans and pacts, all very necessary and important, of course. I will never lose sight of my goals and what is truly important, but as I throw a pair of suede boots into my trunk with a little more force than necessary, I don't see a reason not to be at least a little bitter about it all. I am self aware enough too see that I am thinking like a boy who's favourite toy is being taken away, but is that not the very situation at hand? Sansa, my toy, my pet, my girl, my sweetling, and here I was so used to having her every other night, Playing with her....cruelty it was to deny myself, why would I torture myself so? I hoped for the sake of the Gull Town lords I could get over such childishness, lest my mind wander during a meeting, and my cock grows hard in front of any Gull Town lords. Everyone knows of my affinity to gold and coin, but if they see me hard while speaking of such, they will think me a very queer kind of copper counter indeed. 

If sense was flung out the window, I would take her with me. See how she liked bouncing on my lap as we rolled over cobblestones in the back of a wheelhouse with the curtains drawn. I could imagine how she would shriek and giggle now, pressing her reddened face into my shoulder to keep from being too loud.

Ah, and there is still something I must do, along with finishing this infernal packing. A task I am putting off even more. Sansa must be told of my upcoming absence. 

Of course this trip has been planned for sometime now, at least in my mind, but the castle will hear it as a surprise sent by raven just this morning. Even Sansa will hear it as so, though I doubt she will be happy to hear it in any which way.

Or is that me and a touch of wishful thinking? Will she ache for me in a way I will no doubt ache for her? Will she frig herself with her fingers and curse that I am not there to quench her needs? I am a cruel father to hope my absence pains her. I picture her crying, tears clinging to long lashes as she presses herself into my chest, sobbing into my waist coat as I stand before my horse. Don't leave, she would cry, and I would laugh gently and pat her, soothe her, and promise to be back soon, that she should not be so silly, wiping away her tears before kissing her salt stained lips, but oh gods, listen to me. I am the one being silly. I had such silly fantasies when I dreamed of being a knight going off to some great battle, my lady love seeing me off, weeping for my safe return. Now I am only an old man, riding off to talk trade and coin, with a daughter bidding me goodbye, not a lover, though in this strange situation of ours, the two could hardly be distinguished.

I decide I will not wait until this evening to inform her of my departure. Whenever I tell her she will pout about it, perhaps even be cross with me, and if I leave it till the last minute of the evening it will have us part on a sour note. Aha, but if I tell her now, she will have her pout and her cross words with me, but then in the evening she will come around and realise what folly it is to let me leave without a parting embrace or more, and I have reason to think I may have a midnight visitor to see me off before my travels, full of apologies and kisses.

I make my way into her apartments and find one of her chamber maids busying herself with dresses, and she looks up quite surprised.

“Lord Baelish,” she bobs quite politely, and I smile, curtly.

“My daughter, is she in?”  
“Yes, M'lord, I've just drawn her a bath.” she glances towards the door to Sansa's room, and my curt smile grows quite genuine.

“Oh, well I will suppose I will have to wait then,” I try to look annoyed “But you, are you occupied at the moment? I have trunks that need to be packed, I'm to be travelling at first light tomorrow. You can attend to that for me, no doubt?”

The girl looks a little lost “I, uh, I am sure I could M'lord,” though she glances back at Sansa's door “Should I come down after lady Alayne has finished bathing-”

I wave a hand at her “I am quite certain my daughter can towel and dress herself, she has done so for many years of her life. Now, packing? Never in my life have I been good at it. Run along, you are of more use there, I assure you.”

She nods her head, bobs politely again, and scurries away and I do not hasten to lock the doors behind her.

Now, wouldn't it be a delight to stumble upon my young beauty bathing, unaware of my gaze in her idleness as she pressed a cool cloth over her bare skin, wet hair clinging along her alabaster back?

But no doubt she has heard me, or at least she has heard the click of the handle, as I make my way in to find her head already turned toward the door.

“Father?” she inquires softly, with a note of surprise, a note of curiosity, and just a touch of knowing.

“Daughter,” I reply, with a smile that may give away a few of my intentions.

The bath stands in front of the fire, with the water so high it hides her form, save for her shoulders, and the caps of her knees, jutting from the surface, her long legs unable to stretch in the small tub.

As I make my way over, stepping around to face her, she bends forward, wrapping her arms around those knees and laying her chin atop them, curling up in some sort of coy modesty.

“And what are you doing here?” she inquires, as I bend to sit before her, picking up a cloth that lay close by on the floor.

“Can't a father pay his daughter a visit, on a slow day like today?” I say, rolling up my sleeves to the elbow with care.

“And you make sure to pay your visits when I am as immodest as I can be?” 

“Oh, child, I have seen you more immodest than this...” I trail off, meeting her gaze as she blushes slightly, looking down at the water. Yes, think of that time I had you on your back, sweating and moaning, staining my desk with your cum, when you want to think of yourself at your most immodest.

“Here,” I gesture, holding the cloth “Lift your leg,”

I see her eye travel back to the door “The maid...?” 

“Gone,”

“She may come back,”

“All the more reason to lift your leg to me with some haste, girl,”

She does so tentatively, leaning back and letting it rise out of the water, held out straight, toes pointed. Posing for me. I watched as the water ran down in rivulets before reaching out with the cloth to feel her. To wash her. To dirty her.

She watches me as I take the heel of her foot in my palm and take my time stroking back and forth over her calf.

“So, tell me, what occasion calls for you to be washed and perfumed?” I ask, hands busy on her form.

A little smile crosses her face and she shouldn't think I don't catch it.

“Myranda is having cakes and tea served this afternoon in her apartments. Harry and a few of the other knights are invited, and she asked that we dress accordingly.”

I venture my cloth as far as her knee, my eyes flitting up to hers for all but a second, before I focus back to my task “Ah, well then. You must certainly look your best in that case.”

She wants to make me jealous with such a statement, the cheek. 

“Give me your arm,” I say, lowering her leg back into the water, her arm offered willingly. I clasp her delicate hand in mine and begin my languid strokes again, and this time I could tug ever so slightly, and see the mound of her breast rise up to the surface of the water.

“I think I shall wear that blue dress of mine. The one with the peonies stitched around the collar.” she says, all innocence.

“You mean the one that sinches in at the waist and pushes up your breasts?” I reach down to pinch at her nipple, making her squirm and laugh, sloshing water around the tub “The one I bought for you.”

“Yes, that one,” she say, widening her legs only a fraction, but the subtle hint is all I need, and my hand traces down under the water, dipping between her thighs to feel her. It is somehow less pleasurable, unable to feel her own wetness admidst the water, and so I grip. Possessive. Two fingers slid into her, one pressing above her slit.

“Well, you can tell Harry he'll have you all to himself for close to a fortnight, lucky boy that he is. I'll be off to Gulltown at first light tomorrow.”

At that, her expression changed. Good.

“What?” she sat up a little, even as my hand clasped her cunt, and the water poured away to expose her chest, and I wanted her. I wanted her to want me “This is what you came here for? To tell me this? The day before you're due to leave?”

“Yes.” I said quite simply.

“You said you wouldn't leave me here alone again. You said your business in Gulltown was done.”

“Business and oppertunities can come at in-oppertune moments, and we must work around them.” 

“Don't speak to me as if this is some lesson,” she cannot hide the touch of venom in her voice, and even as she says it, as she see's my expression harden, my eyebrows raise, she knows she should not have spoken in such a way.

“You see fit to tell me how to speak to you?” I say, quite clamly, my grip unrelenting, and her gaze hits the water.

“No, father... I only.....I only wish you would....I am frightened of being here alone.”

She changes her voice to one of of a scared little girl. An endearing tone. It rings quite false, as I see her eyes stare hard at me. I enjoy her efforts though.

My other hand moves to cup her cheek, and tilt her head so that she might look at me “As I am frightened to leave you here alone, sweetling.....but I will not waste time, and I have men placed here who care for nothing but your safety.”

“Only they don't care. You can only pay a man so much to care,”

I smile at that, and rub my thumb against her cheek “Too true, my dear, too true.”

“Could you not take me with you this time? Your sweet daughter? Alayne was from Gulltown. Perhaps she wanted to go back and see the septa's who raised her, who would question it?”

She is a smart little thing, and I like the idea, but I must be reasonable.

“You are well placed here, among Myranda, the lords declarant and Harry. I have gone on these trips before, it will be no different from those, and I must go before winter truly descends upon us.”

I waited for the resigned understanding to cross her face, a sad but sweet look upon her features, as she leant a soft cheek into my hand.

O0o000o0o0o0o00o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0

As I suspected, I lay in bed at night, making sure to keep a candle by my bedside burning, as I heard the creak of my chamber doors open just a touch. Enough for a whisp of a girl to sneak her way in. The heavy curtains to my four poster bed are parted, and I see her shadow dancing across the wall, before I feel the covers of my bed shift, and the weight of her crawls its way in towards me. 

I roll over to already find her pressing her way into me, her body intertwining with mine as I wrap arms around her without a word, her leg resting between mine, her face pressed into my chest so that I can smell the clean scent of her hair. As the covers settle over both of us, my hands roam to rub at her back, her ass, any part of her I can stroke, I stroke, raising up the fabric of her nightdress until I can feel smooth skin. I patted her hair, caressed her breasts, almost lulled into a dreamlike state of comfort and arousal, starting slow, taking all the time I have. She is so warm, and the candlelight so soothing, and with the curtains closed behind us it is our own wonderfully stifling little world.

“Come to say goodbye, are we?” I mumble into her hair after some time.

“Will say goodbye in the morning too,” she says back into my chest, hunched down as she is.

“Yes, but not in quite the same way, hm?” I smile as my hand strokes up the backside of her thigh, settling between her legs, which she spreads to receive my hand “You'll miss me playing with your cunny, won't you?” 

“Mmm,” she mumbles in a contented yes, her body shifting so I could slip my fingers inside of her and begin pumping slowly into the warm recesses of her cunt, and her mumbles start to turn to moans. I fuck her with my fingers until she starts to move her hips, her shyness leaving her, overtaken by something more lurid and base. Here, here is the wetness I so missed this morning, now it coats me, helps me move more rapidly, to frig her harder. 

I slip my fingers out and raise them to my lips, sucking the jucies off them before her glazed over eyes “I will miss the taste of you,” I hiss, her hips still bucking against me, still needy.

“My honey?” her parted lips break into a smile as she breathes too heavily, and I laugh.

“Yes, my girl, your honey. Honey from your sweet little cunt, that's what I like best,” I stroke my cock against the inside of her thigh, thick and heavy, and she sighs.

“Then taste me,” she whispers “Taste me like you did before. Your lips...kiss me down there, father, please,” she plants a kiss along my jaw “That's what I like best.”

It takes but half a heart beat for me to roll her over to her back, to descend upon her with fevor, kissing at her neck, her collar bone, her breasts, the soft curve of her stomach, I nipped and nuzzled, made her giggle and writhe under my flurried assault as I made my way down between her legs.

“Father, father,!” she cries until she is stilled by my tongue reaching her slit, a gasp as I take that first wonderous lap against her softness. My hands grip about her thighs, pulling her further apart, so that I might press myself further into her, reaching every inch of her, no part of her unmarred by my tongue. I would lift her up so slightly from the bed ,my tongue pressing into the furrow of her ass, only to drag it's way all the way up through her folds and back down again. I sucked at her, lapped at her, relished every second of it as she moaned into the covers. This is what she liked best, so this is what I must do best. Such a doting father I was.

I pushed my tongue inside of her, as far is it could go, licking her from the inside, swirling my tongue within her, and I felt her clench. Heard her moan. It was never my name, always father. Father, father, father, was the chant of her arousal, and I had long since questioned the certain kind of sin we practised as we both sunk ourself into this game. Here, in this warm womb of a bed we nestled in now, what did the rest of the world matter? In moments like this there was nothing beyond those curtains, there was only us. A teacher and his student, a man and a girl, a father and his daughter. 

I sucked at the top of her slit, at the little nub that grew engorged as I worked, and she jerked her hips up with a little cry as I did so, and I had to rub myself into the mattress at such a sound, hips grinding down to give my cock the faintest of reliefs. It was not me who mattered now, not when my girl was about to come about my tongue. I lapped at her all over, covering every fold with the shine of my salvia and her own juices, ignoring her pleas for mercy.

I need only suckle a minute longer, my fingers reaching in to curl inside her, before she came, her body tightening, raising off the mattress, her cries wracking her. I was there to claim every drop as she came and came and came. 

She came back down from her high limp, body still shaking every so slightly, as raised my head to once again survey all the charms of my bedfellow. Her flushed skin, the little peaks of her nipples beneath thin linen, that really aught to be disposed of. I would have her naked body pressed against mine on this last night of pleasure I was to be allowed.

“Off,” Was all I muttered, tugging at the offending fabric, as she sat up, still panting slightly, as I went about lifting it over her head. I couldn't help but resume the kisses, long and arduous against her skin, in the alcove of her neck and jaw, to the fine underside of her breasts, against every soft curve I came across. What a blessing her charms were, and all given to a devil like me. The gods would call it a waste, that I should flaunt her as mine before them. Did they even see us here, in this sinful little refuge we had built for ourselves? A terrible part of me hoped they did.

As I went to lie besides her, she softened and curled at my side, and I tucked her gently underneath her chin “You always come so prettily for me. Always such a good girl.” I tell her, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Thank you father,” I hear her more than I can see her, but her voice sounds full of warmth. A kind of pride.

“And a good girl should pleasure her father too, don't you think?”

“Yes. Yes of course.” she says, her voice sugar soft.

I kiss her once more on the lips, sweetly, before she lowers herself down under my own nightclothes, and I could almost laugh as a feel a chaste kiss at the top of my leg. A little peck. Then a greater one, pressed much closer to my cock, and I feel myself twitch in anticipation. The hesitation is what made the touch so sweet. The shy little thing is a temptress in her own way.

I cannot help myself, I must pull up the covers to look at her as she worked. When she sees I am watching, she smiles red faced, settling on her stomach with her cheek going to rest on my thigh. 

This is where her power is, I fear, this woman-child who can make herself smaller, soften herself, and capture me with those eyes. I have ruined her, I have bruised her, I have tempted her into all manner of sin but yet she exudes the essence of virginity still. She has realised the power in false innocence and I want to appluad her. I want to kiss her all the more fiercely.

When her mouth moves to take my softened cock, the head of me hits the warm inside of her cheek and her lips glide down the shaft, sucking and languid. I canot help but moan at the first blessed contact as she breathes over me, licks over me, takes all she can of me. 

“That's a good girl,” I urge “Just like that,”

She moaned then, as if to let me know she had heard, was grateful, but unwilling to relinquish me from her mouth. She moaned around my cock, the thrum of it sending vibrations over me. I watched as her lips bobbed down then up, down then up, ever so often stopping at the rosy head to suckle with special attention, rewarded with little droplets of pre-cum which she lapps up greedily. A treat for her and a treat for me to watch, her little pink tongue darting out to roll over the soft skin, so sensitive just there, as I have told her. The girl listens and the girl learns.

My hand reached down to thread through her hair, just gently enough to feel her, to guide her as my pleasure built, as she brought me closer to release with every swirl of her tongue. I keened, thrusting into her mouth, and she choked, un-prepared for it, but still she worked, lips stretching over the width of me with a kind of ardour. She is still inexperienced but yet she has me drunk on her. Every time her teeth would graze me I would tug at her hair. Every time she did something right with her tongue, that turned into a caress. 

Eventually I could not help but thrust up into her mouth, my breathe laboured, grunting with every well placed stroke of her tongue, my release imminent. 

“Yes, yes,” I pressed my head back to the pillow, feeling the warmth creep through my stomach “Let father come in your mouth, sweetling. Be a good girl and drink it all down.”

She moaned for me. A yes. Her mouth full of my cock, saliva running down from her mouth as she let me thrust and thrust and thrust into her, until I spurted my hot seed to the back of her throat, hearing her cry out as she tasted it, and I shook as she pulled back her mouth. A pearly string of my cum dripped from her mouth to the head of my cock, but she was dutifully in lapping even that up.

“Good girl, good girl,” I muttered “You like the taste of me do you?”

“Yes,” she answered, already crawling up on hands and needs to straddle me, where I gripped at her waist, trying to guide her movements, but she was intent on resting her cunny just above my cock, and grinding “Yes, I love the taste of you, father.”

I groaned, feeling her rub her sweet wet lips over my length, still sensitive from ejaculation.

“Oh, you love my cock, don't you?” I couldn't help but hiss through the pain, already feeling myself stir back to attention, as her hands came to my chest, gripping at my nightshirt.

She giggled, a girl playing a most wondrous game “Yes, yes, yes, father, I do, so much.”

“Little slut,” I bite, slapping at her ass, grabbing at the flesh to spread her buttocks, kneading her in my hands. Her wetness smeared across me, smeared across my cock as we moved like this, fucking her without fucking her. I slicked in-between the cleft of her ass, the folds of her cunt, and stared transfixed at the reddened tip of my cock moving underneath the wanting pinkness of her. 

“Please,” she begged, panted “Father, please....”

She could not get the words out but I knew what she wanted. It was what I wanted. I could feel her try to angle her hips, undulate a certain way, and I could only grip roughly at the juncture of her hips to try and still her. I knew what she wanted but I could not give it to her.

“No, no, my child, no,” my own words were torturous, even to me, coming from a place of sense I did not even realise I could reach in this state.

“Please!” the pleading was almost a wail, desperate, and I groaned.

“Harry said....Harry said...” she struggled with her words as she moved so frantic, but at the name, how could I not hear “He was glad...to hear you would be gone for some time. He said...said he may visit me if I am lonely...If I need company.”

Bastard, I cursed, an anger coursing through me.

“and that's why you want to be fucked now? Have your dear father be the first to fuck your virgin cunt, no one else?” I rasped, deciding at once to roll her off me, press her down into the bed on her stomach so that I pressed over her, cock now pressing into her ass, where she continued to buck and writhe under me.

“yes!” she cried “Yes, please, please, father, fuck me.” My head falls to her back, slick with her sweat, and I breathe, still thrusting along the warmth of her, our bodies still moving like animals in heat but not yet joined.“You said girls broke all the time, there's no way to tell how.” she argued, with a little thrust of her bottom, making me grind all the harder into her.

I know what I said. I know what we can do. I know that I told myself I would be the first to fuck her. To have her completely.

“This is what you came here for tonight, to beg to be fucked?” I rasp against the skin of her back and my only answer is a whimper “You want my cock more than anything, don't you? Want to feel me cum deep inside you, is that it?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants into the bed covers, rocking back and forth under me and I decide to end her suffering. End my own suffering, as I position myself over her, cock pressing at her entrance. That stilled her, as did my hand at the small of her back as I pushed myself into her with a force that made her cry out. I use my hands to spread her ass, to spread the thick lips of her vulva, to see myself sink slowly into her, her mouth open in a silent gape as she stiffened, and soon I was buried to the very utmost notch in the most lusciously tight cunt I had ever entered.

“Father,” she whispers weakly, reverently, as I lost myself in the feel of her. She felt so good, so good, but this was more than physical, no, this was a transcendence. This was a win. The final corruption, the final claim to my girls body that I could make. Now no one could boast what I could, no one could take her innocence for the second time. That sordid title was mine alone, and it had been freely given. Begged to be be taken. This carnal offering laid at my feet, and I took and took and took with each ram of my cock buried deep inside her.

“You feel so good around my cock” I purred, my words punctuated by harsh thrusts “So hot, so soft, so tight.”

She was trembling, gasping as I devoured her, hunched over her form, a power coursing through me. The most painful of deflowering , and oh how she cried, as I no doubt teared her for the first time, her tight sheath contracting on my cock. She cried deep in her throat, her knuckles clenched at the bedsheets above her, yet as we moved, she started to move with me. Rocked with me, thrust back up against me as her wetness coated me, dripped down her thighs, made such perverse sounds that echoed in our ears.

She took it in her stride, and her cries turned to moans. Drawn out, needy moans. This is what she wanted, to. Let her come to love the deep recesses of debauchery as I do, let her descend into every carnal act with me, to be spread out on this unholy alter of a bed, to die on my cock, reborn as my whore. The reflected image of me, of my pain and my triumphs and my needs. My true daughter, in every terrible sense of the way.

“My sweet girl feels so good, so good, so good.” I praised her more, my hands moving to stroke her, to comfort her, even as I hurt her “How do you like your fathers cock inside you? Tell your father how it feels.”

“Thick,” was the word she murmured first, and I laughed quite darkly “Hot,” was the second, and I pumped my cock into her more languidly, so that I could reach around and stroke at her swollen clit, and she gasped, her voice cracking under pleasure.

“And good?” 

“And good,” she mimicked, ass rising higher off the bed sheets, moving more forcibly back against my cock “Good, good, yes,” the words fell from her lips, spurning me on to thrust faster into her, and her cries of pain became those of pleasure. Of wonderment. 

The heat was now maddening, the sweat on my brow, the smell of our sex, the sound of my skin slapping against hers, I found myself crying out with her. She wailed as I shuddered and groaned above her, the muscles in my ass tightening, my hand gripping her thighs, frantic and demonic and everything a young ladies first time should not be. The need to come rose and rose into the most glorious peak, as I rammed her down my cock until it roared through me. A flash of lightening as everything stilled as I poured myself into her, hot thick sperm filling her from within, and her final cry matched mine as this tainted bliss took us both.

I stilled behind her for what felt like a long moment, panting, the fervour that had wracked my body still sending tremors through my limbs as I pulled myself from her. Sansa all but collapsed on the bed, knees weak beneath her, as her breath came in small, out of breath pants.

I had to take her in my arms, cradle her, move back to the position where I could best pat her hair, caress her breasts, stroke her back. I whispered nothing but praise in her hear, soothed her, and she clung to me. Her skin sticky with sweat and cum and tears, where I wiped at her cheek, tilting her head up to look at me, where I let an utter obscenity leave my lips.

“I love you, sweet girl, do you know that?”

And it didn't need to be spoken what kind of love it was, because we both knew it was not the kind of love most people feel. There were no two other souls on this earth who had the connection that we did. Had been what we had been through in two seperate lives that now intertwined as one, and wrote their future anew from that pain. Pain and love were not so easily distinguishable with the likes of us.

“I do, father....and I love you...so, so much.”

And she cried as she said it, overcome with how much that meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm on holidays for a couple of months! Yay! This should mean much more writing from me. Looking forward to updating my fics.


	5. Chapter 5

“How was the journey, Lord Baelish?”

I inwardly sighed as Nestor asked the question, escorting me up through the entrance hall, with me still in my travelling cloak and my ass still numb from sitting for days in that damn wheel house.

“Fine, fine, no troubles came our way.” I used the same answer I'd given to the last five people who had asked, pulling off my gloves, the serving boys already scurrying past us up the great stairs with my trunk.

“Shall we organise a dinner tonight for your arrival back?” Myranda asked as she walked with us, and I find myself nodding, when truly I want to ask 'and why are you here, and not my dear daughter? Where is Sansa, Alayne, where is her sweet face and her kiss to my cheek?'

“Yes, a dinner would be most welcomed. Honeyed ham if they have it, perhaps some quail and poached pears too, only in preference, it's fine if you don't.” I ramble somewhat off-handedly as I glance around, hoping to spot her, until I hear her call.

“Father!”

I only turn in time to almost bump into her, she has come up behind me so fast.

“Ah, my girl!” I laugh as I take her quickly into my arms, glad to have her firm and real before me, the relief of it almost overwhelming in it's strangeness. I had no real cause for concern in my absence, but how I worried anyway. Was this how true fathers fretted when away from their children? I had once heard somewhere in passing that having a child is like having your heart outside of your body, and at the time I had regarded it as a stupid notion, but now I was not so sure.

I kissed her cheek quickly and I could smell her, the oils she used in her hair to keep it dark, and a scent I could only call her own, but then we pulled back, as we must in front of others. Still, I held her hands in mine, gazed at her adoringly. 

“I am glad you're back. You look well.” she says with mandated courtesy, but her eyes spoke volumes more. I could see they were bright with happiness, and her lips parted in a smile she couldn't contain. A dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth, and how I was done for!

I gripped her hands tighter to show what couldn't be said “And I am glad to be back, sweetling, and of course you look as well as ever.”

A shame it was that I couldn't whisk her away to me chambers right this second. To our ensconced bed, our hideaway from the world, or my desk, or simply a darkened alcove. Anywhere would do at this point, it simply had to be private and with her, and that was all I wanted in this second. But alas. The Lord Declarant has duties. Tasks to attend too, business to pass on, news to deliver.

And of course the dinner I had agreed too.

I had arrived a few hours before sundown and now I regretted such a decision, as all I wanted was my bed and my girl in said bed, instead of sitting here at a table with the roar of a hall all around me. I waned between Lady Waynwood and was nestled besides Nestor Royce, forced to idle chatter, while lessor lords and knight and squires and an entire gallery of utter nobodies that Myranda always insisted on inviting ate and drank and made merry. Honestly, the girl would host small folk in her great hall if it meant a more raucous party.

I could spy Sansa with a little gaggle of girls further down the table, and I smiled to see her showing off a beaded pearl bracelet I had gifted her from my travel. Gulltown was renowned for it's pearls, and this piece had the prettiest golden clasp, and the daintiest pearls, that when I saw it I knew it would only suit her wrist alone. Any other girl it would be wasted on.

Every now and again she would glance back to me, her eyes wide and wanting, and I wanted to assure her that I was aching for her too. Oh, how I envied all these men and boys here now, dancing and kissing, giggling and revelling and showing off their love for the whole hall. How I would want to boast in such a way. To drink up the envious stares of other men, as I was the one with Sansa Stark in my lap, feeding her sweetened fruit from the end of my fork, kissing away the sticky glaze left on her lips.

“Lord Baelish, you're back.”

My eyes are dragged away to the much less pleasant sight of Harry sitting down across the table from me, his fingers already tearing into an already half eaten duck, tearing off a morsel to stuff in his mouth.

“Yes. It appears so.” I smile, noticing two other lads he counted as friends sitting down besides him. A little flock of pigeons who fancied themselves as falcons.

“Have a good time?” he says, with the graces to swallow his food before he speaks. I am almost annoyed I can't fault him for it.

“Quite.”

He nods “Good, good. Tired I suppose. From the journey?”

I am more tired from the brief interaction that anything “Yes, weary and sore. I shall be quite glad when it comes time to retire.”

“but the nights hardly even started! I don't intend to retire until the ale stops flowing and the girls stop dancing.” he laughs at his own assenine statement, as does his little flock.

I indulge him with a smile, taking a drink from my wine “Ah, but for the vigour of youth.”

Harry laughs as if we are sharing this joke, toasting his own glass “and we'll drink to that, won't we men?”

There's a resounding cheer from them as they knock back the wine, with no appreciation for it's vintage. I sip, to hide a scoff. 'men' he says, a little boy puffing up his chest. Fluffing up his feathers. I stare at the burnt and torn apart pigeon pie down the end of the table and keep my comments to myself.

“Aye, Rickard thinks himself able to lure at least three girls under the great stairs by the end of the night,” nods one of the boys, who's names I have not enquired about.

“Does he now?” Harry ribs his friend “I'd doubt you could get one, wearing a surcoat with gravy dripped down the front of it.”

The boy looks down his surcoat “What? I don't have any-”

but it was then that Harry had picked up the small gravy boat from the table and promptly dribbled down the thick brown mixture down his friends front. He promptly jumped away with a cry and started wiping furiously, all while Harry and the majority of the table surrounding me laughed along, with Harry pounding a fist on the table.

“Suppose I'll best be trying it with those poor girls you won't be getting now, hm, Rick?” the other boy jests.

“Right, right, you of all people then, when you've never even felt up a girls dress before.” the stained boy mutters, still trying to wipe in vain at the ruined velvet.  
“Hey, I have so!”

“It doesn't count if your hand stays over their dresses,” Harry interjects.

“Yeah, you need to at least have a finger or two in her quim, or you're just as green as before.”

They're all guffawing along with each other, until I spy Harry's face. A little crinkle in his brow.

“What was that?” he turns his head to his friend.

“What?” The boy replied stupidly, my eyes darting between them.

“What you just said, what did you say?”

“What, that Alester's still green?”

“No, no, just before that, that word you said, what was that?” Harry has started to sound annoyed now.

“Oh...quim?” the boy says sheepishly, eyes flicking past Lady Waynwood, who is politely pretending not to listen, and to myself. I for one, am now listening quite intently.

“Did you not know what quim means, Harry?” Alester asks with a certain kind of mocking glee in his tone.

Harry bristles “Yes,” he declares quite shirtily “Of course I knew what it means, I just didn't hear him properly that's all...thought he said something else...”

But by the redness of his cheeks and the snappish tone, it was quite clear to me at least that young Harry had never heard of the base word before, and that gave me quite a bit to ponder over indeed.

“If you'll excuse me,” I stand up, my leave given only the briefest glance of acknowledgement, as I slip away through the throngs of people.

She spots me coming, her back straightening, her expression shifting. The girls surrounding her stifle their idle chatter too as I approach, straightening their gowns, and giving little nods of their heads.

“Ladies,” I dip my head back “Are we enjoying the evening?”

“Oh, yes, my Lord.”

“Yes, it's wonderful.”

“A most fine evening.”

The little chorus of sweet, practised niceties all said at once, but I wait to hear Sansa's answer, which she seems to be thinking over.

“It's so far uneventful I suppose.” she smiles, blasé, and my eyebrows raise.

“Uneventful? Why, dear girl, what kind of events were you waiting for?”

She meets my eye and I see something almost deviant in them. Oh, but to hear her answer if only we were alone, and she might be able to whisper it in my ear.

“I don't know,” she shrugs “but so far I've sat here all evening and no one has asked me to dance.”

“That's not true,” one of the girls piped up, the youngest looking of them, with an upturned nose and a chartreuse satin gown “Dennis asked you to dance earlier, and Raymond.”

“Squires don't count.” Sansa said without even regarding the girl.

“Well, if you don't intend to dance with squires, and no one else is asking, then what do you intend to do all night?” I ask, and she pauses for a second before holding out her hands to me.

“You'll have to dance with me, father.” she declares and I laugh, taking her offered hands in mine.

“Me? An old man?” I pull a face at her friends behind her so they giggle “surely she could do better than me, don't you think girls?”

“No, no, give her a dance!” 

“We'll see how good you are Lord Baelish!”

“Dance, dance, you must!”

“Oh, very well then, I shall do my best,” I sigh as she came to her feet “Though I think I know your plan, to use your dear old father to show off your dancing skills, so some handsome young Lords son might spy you across the room, and think to take you for himself when the next song starts. I am merely a pawn in her game, you see girls? Isn't she wicked?”

We leave her friends to titter among themselves as I lead her out by the hand to join the formation of couples in the middle of the hall. She is already poised as she walks with me, back straight, head held high, her body naturally graceful as we come to position. We stand besides each other, her facing right, myself facing left, our hands brought up before us, the back of them touching ever so gently, and we turn one way, then switch and turn the other. 

“Was I correct in what I said?” I ask, taking her hand as she spins out from me.

“About me using you to get the Lords Son's to dance?” she smiles as she is pulled back “You said it, not me.”

“Even so,” I speak lowly so the other dancers won't hear over the din of the pipes and drums and lutes “Is there any truth to it?”

“Is it so strange to want to indulge ones dear father in a dance?” she says so coyly.

“Have you thought of us dancing before?”

“Perhaps,” 

“Well, then I should hope I live up to your expectations. I was never considered particularly skilled at dancing, but of course I shall try for your sake.”  
“I think you're a very good dancer.” She says, and I see her bravado start to fade as she blushes, her eyes flitting down to her feet as we met hands again and turned.

I smile at the sweetness, my own tainted grin, as I think of fucking her even now, it cannot be helped. I pull myself closer to her with each time we step back to one another, only the briefest of moments, without ever fully coming into contact with her, yet it drives me almost mad.

“You don't just say that to be kind, do you?” I say lowly, and she looks up, smile faltering only slightly.

“No, of course not,”

“Good,” my hand takes hers and I run a thumb over her skin, the most intimate touch I can allow in the moment “Because I would hate to think my little girl lies to me.”

We dance for only one more song before we escape. Before I pull her swiftly to the door as the music changes and everyone is moving to form a circle and find partners to start the group formations, and in the confusion we are gone. Out of the hall, up the great stairs, down the halls, quickly, quickly, quickly where no one see's us, and I have her all to myself behind my own locked door.

In the silence we stand feet away from each other, and I gaze at her. I have all the time in the world with her now, and I take all of her in as I step toward her slowly, cupping her face in my hands.

“Now,” I say “I feel in need of a kiss.”

It starts delicate and shy, as if the weeks apart have made her hesitant, but it is not long before she lets me tongue slip past her lips, and soon her hands come to my front for something to grip. To steady herself as I kiss her more forcefully.

“Did you miss me?” I ask, pulling away.

“Terribly.” she answers.

I guide her to the bed, leading her by the hand, as I'd done so with our dance.

“You haven't been too bored without me?”

“Only a little,” she teases, as we lay ourselves down across the covers.

I prop myself up with my elbow and she moves herself to hover above me, neither of our bodies touching yet, and I believe her to be waiting for me to move upon her first. Se is tempting but no temptress, not yet, there is still a shyness with her.

I toy with her hair, her tresses between my fingers.

“And how was Harry? Not too grating, I hope.”

“Not at all.”

“And Robin? He didn't misbehave too badly while I was away, did he?” 

“He did, of course he did, but not too badly that I could not handle it.” She answers quickly, shifting her body closer to mine, her eyes fixed on my lips. Knowing what she wants but unable to ask for it.

“Good, good. But you know how you should handle him when he misbehaves don't you?”

Her little brow furrows “Why must we talk about Robin now? I don't want to talk about Robin...”

“I simply want to know how you handle him, that's all.” I reply, languidly.

She gives an uninterested answer “Well, I suppose if he's being particularly naughty I give him a slap on the back of his hand , and then I tell him if he's naughty again I'll throw him over my knee and give him a good spanking.”

“A spanking...” I repeat, frowning a little “You don't think that's a little severe?”

Sansa shrugs her shoulders a fraction “Not really. It's good for teaching lessons, isn't it?”

I nod as if to ponder and agree “Yes, yes, I suppose it is. Now, tell me, what kind of actions warrant such a punishment? When he throws a tantrum?”

Sansa is growing wary as the conversation goes on, I see it in her expression “Yes..”

“And if he goes and hits you or the maester when he's upset?”

“Yes?”

“And if he perhaps tells a lie?”

There. She tenses, and tries to sit up straighter but I have her by the hand, and I am not letting go.

“Father why are you asking me about such things, I don't know why you would-”

“Oh, but I think you might.” I press, pulling her closer and her blue eyes grow wide “You say you came across Harry saying dreadful things about you in the stables, you and your dripping quim, if I recall?”

“I...yes,” she stammers, colour rising to her cheeks, confused.

“So you claim, but I have reason to believe that perhaps you have much such a slanderous statement up, and harry never said anything of the sort, hm?”

I can see it, see it in her eyes, she has been caught as she burns and tries to look away across the room “Why would you...I'd never-”

“Don't lie to me, Sansa.” I add a sternness to my voice and she cracks, her bottom lip already jutting out in an effort to draw out my sympathies.

“Father, please.”

“Don't make it worse for yourself, I want you to confess to me now.”

“But I don't-”

“Sansa!”

“Oh, yes, yes, ok, I made it up! I'm sorry father, I'm sorry, but why are you so cross with me?” she cried, still trying her luck in pulling away her wrist, but my grip was firm, installing a kind of rising fear in her.

“Because I don't want to think my daughter is the kind of girl who would lie to her father! Oh, what a shame that would be.” I must force the disapproval in my voice, hide my anticipation “and now of course I will have to punish you, as much as I would hate too!”

“Punish me?” she squeaks.

“Yes, of course, how could I not? You yourself said dear sweet Robin was to be punished when he lies, and so must you my girl!”

“No!” she cries again, the realisation of what I intend to do hits her, and she wrenches free of my grip and tries to writhe away across the bed, but I am quick. I lunge across the comforter and take her leg, and she shrieks as I pull her back, struggling as I drag her across my lap.

“Oh, father, don't! Please, please, don't!” she is in a frightful state as I position her, hold her still even as she wriggles face down in the sheets, hands slapping at me in vain. She tries to get loose but I have her too well secured for that.

Even through her struggles I manage to pull up the silk of her dress, the layers of lace petticoats, to find her well formed thighs clad in delicate light pink stockings, and her plump little ass already bare.

“And you've already foregone your small clothes for the evening, by the gods, what kind of girl have I raised?” I say, already running a hand in the furrow between her cheeks, dipping underneath her to feel the soft hair of her cunny, still holding her close to me.

“Father, let me go now, or I'll scream and the whole household will come running and see what you're doing!” she sobbed.

“And will they hear you over the music, sweetling? I should think not.” and with that I surprise her with the first blow from my hand, swift and hard hitting against the fleshiest part of her ass. She lets out a cry, from indignation more than anything, as that was barely a true strike at all. I slap her once, twice, thrice, in the same manner, my hits growing harder each time, and each time I earn a little cry.

“You're cruel! Oh, father, stop, stop!” she sobs, my hand cutting through the air half-a-dozen times in rapid succession, my own excitement growing. I wonder if she can feel my erection rub at her stomach as she continues to writhe atop me, only ceasing to tense against my blows as I suffuse her fair bottom all over with a peach like bloom.

Her begging's and cries filled the room as I went on. I slapped at the back of her thighs, switched back and forth between each of her cheeks, so as to not let one inch of her go un-punished. The sounds of the smacks rang out in the room, but no one would come to call on us. She was at my mercy and she knew it. Watching her so sent a thrill of ecstasy through me, my cock straining against fabric, tenting beneath her. Aching for her.

“I wonder what else rings less than true with you. Your tale of dear Myranda wanting to probe your cunt?” I say as I keep up the slaps with one hand, while the other goes to spread the lips of her cunny open so that I may finger her myself “My, my Sansa, to think of all the awful things you have accused people of...” I breathe, burying my finger up to the knuckle inside her and pumping in and out so that she gave a weak little cry of shame and mortification, and I could feel her body tremble with such emotion.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I am!” she breathes, and through the ordeal I can feel her push her little bottom back upon my fingers, wanting more, the shameless girl. I rub and play with her cunt vigorously and she moans, and I am forced to cease my blows just to pull her hair to face me, so that I may see her face, tear stained and flushed and beautiful.

I throw her off my lap, in one quick movement I have her flat on the bed with my behind her, and I pull her ass down so that now I am standing, and she is bent at the waist over the edge of the bed. I hold a hand over her back but she does not try to crawl away, only presses her cheek to the bed, spreads her legs apart even as she whimpers. I have the most glorious view of her, it almost stills my breath, her little ass tinged red, the lips of her cunt much the same colour as she presents them, wet and ready. I free my cock from my breeches and I am painfully hard, but I lean forward to rub myself up between her ass, and she shifts underneath me, needing the friction just as much as me.

“Why did you come to me playing the innocent then, hm?” I ask through heavy breaths, feeling the wetness between her legs, slicking up my cock “Did you just want an excuse to talk about such dirty things with your father, you wicked girl?”

I hear her murmur, clutching at the covers as I slap down hard again, as I align myself with her entrance, the tip of me pressing into her “Yes...yes..”  
“Wanted to know all about cocks and cunts and fucking, did you? Wanted to hear it from me, have me teach you? Show you?” I start to slide inside of her and she trembles, crying out.

“Yes! Yes, I'm sorry, I just-”

“Oh, don't be sorry, my girl.” I pant as I push the full length of my cock into the warmth of her body, my blood hot as I hear her gasp, still so tight I may as well be taking her virginity a second time as I slowly start to pump in and out “Father ended up teaching you well, didn't he? My little student. My little girl, so eager to learn.”

I moan as I already feel my pleasure heightening. A man can't last too long in a girl who feels this good, not when he can view her from behind, see the way her ass moves as she works over my cock. Sweat slicks her back, a glossy sheen over perfect skin. I never forget to keep slapping even as I fuck her. Let her not forget this is a punishment, as well as it was a reward. Let the two intermingle in her mind, the concept of pain and pleasure, until she cannot discern between the two.

“This is another lesson, see? I do this because I love you, sweetling, because I love you. I only hurt you because I love you, understand?” My speech becomes more and more wracked with exertion as I fuck her harder and harder, her tightness encasing me, pulling my orgasm from me. I stop to grip her ass roughly as I gasp, pushed into her as far as I could go, feeling myself come deep inside her.

After a moment stilled inside of her, I pull myself away, my shirt sticking to my back with sweat.  
I fall down besides her onto the bed, breathing heavily, and I gaze upon her face as she slowly pulls up her shaking legs. her lips are parted, and she is still as flushed as before, but I reach out to wipe at the beads of tears in the corners of her eyes, and she lets me, docile and spent.

“Oh, sweetling,” I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her brow, and yet she still looks hurt as she nestles into me “That was not so bad was it?”

She sniffs and gives no answer, as if to make me feel guilty, as she presses a face into my chest, a martyr.

“I didn't just want to talk about naughty things with you,” she says eventually “I thought maybe....maybe you would think Harry unsuitable, talking about me in such a way....that you might not marry him to me.”

“Mm,” I flop my head back upon the mattress, staring up at the draperies overhanging the bed. She really was wonderfully cunning, my little girl “And I'll say I'm impressed, since your little lie had me going. I truly did believe every word of your story. Tell me, was the part about you rubbing your little virgin cunny against the family chair false as well?”

She pauses “...No, that bit was true.”

“Ah, wonderful. That was my favourite part, and I'd hate to think it never happened.” My hand wandered down to play with her damp cunny, rubbing lightly over the folds so that she wriggled slightly, parting her legs to let me at her better “Did you truly foresee that innocent little false question of yours leading to all of this?” I ask genuinely, and this time her pause is even greater.

“I....could tell you perhaps...liked me in such a way.” she seems to be choosing her words carefully “Sometimes I caught you staring at my breasts if I wore my dress quite low...I started leaning over a little more. To see if you'd still be looking. You always were.”

“And here I was thinking I was subtle.”

I look at her again and see the smallest of smiles has found it's way onto her face again.

“I didn't know what to do with myself. When you looked at me like that I felt all funny, I can't describe it...I just wanted to make you look again. Especially when I sat in your lap.”

Overcome with a sense of adoration I bundled her up in my arms to hold her closer, fingers still toying with her cunny, finally making her gasp as I touched her most sensitive spot, hips keening up to my touch, my own cock already bopping back to it's former stiffness.

“Oh, sweet girl. How marvellous you are, how could I fault you, truly? Such a sweet little liar with such a sweet little cunt. Now, I shall never have you lie to me again, not to me, only to the rest of the world....and for your cunt, the rules are reversed. You will share your cunt with no one in the world but me, understood?”

“Understood.” she nodded, smiling, as I leant in to take her in a sweet kind of kiss. My sweet, wicked, and wonderfully curious little girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LA FIN! THE END! Done and done. Loved this fic but this seems like a natural kind of end. Don't worry. I'll still do smutty one-shots set in book canon, I'm sure of it, so no loss. Plus updates to other ongoings.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this one!


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